Tattoo me upon your flesh
by Pixieblade
Summary: Morning and Kubota is being weird again.


**Tattoo Me Upon Your Flesh**

Series: Wild Adaptor

There are days where all I want to do is stay curled up in bed, breathing in the smell of stale cigarettes and the lingering scent of our jasmine shampoo. If I could I'd stay like this forever, ignoring the glaring sun that glints through the metal blinds and burying my head in the crook of his neck, just breathing in, tasting his saltiness as he sleeps; I think I could die happy that way.

Sometimes I just lay here in the early morning light; his arm across my chest is a welcome weight and I have to remind myself to breath, because it's moments like this where I'm truly afraid. If I move, will he wake up? Will this moment shatter and my dream fade into nothingness? Will he fade as well?

I don't want to know the answers, so I hold my breath until the last possible moment, until the edges of my vision start to go all monochrome and shadowy and little sparkles dance in front of me and then _finally_, I remember to breath. Maybe it's the change in breathing pattern, or an unconscious tensing of the muscles, but he always shifts and curls up closer to me during these times. Twisting, he somehow manages to completely fold himself into my every curve and angle.

But we can't stay like this forever and I always end up shattering the moment and move to escape the quiet reality my mind whispers: _this won't last_. Typical, he throws a hand out and haphazardly hits flesh, the prickling feel of nails or claws digging in, dragging me back to bed against my better judgment, though a smile always plays at the edges of my lips when he does.

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, curling closer, legs tangled with mine in his favorite position, with me as a body pillow. The first night he did this; I always smile when I think about it. That first night became a symbol of our relationship; in the darkness we cling to each other, sharing all of ourselves, just to feel alive, to finally feel warm and needed. Then the morning comes and the real world rips us apart, like fighters in the ring, we dance and lock ourselves together and then get pulled apart, thrown to our respective corners and told not to touch, not to play nicely, because the world's not nice and we need to grow up.

I get it, I do, but we're not here for others amusement, whatever anyone else might think. We play the game out in the world, but in here, this is our place and we'll defend our right to dance and touch, to disregard the sun and sleep until noon, just because we _can_. He sighs and drags a hand across his eyes and I know it's only a matter of time before he wakes up, before the daylight intrudes upon our little world and we're forced to flee the safety of our bed.

Sheets get kicked away and the blinds slapped for the offense of letting the sun spill across his face and I hear the shattering. Our world crumbles away and _they_ are at our door, salesmen hawking useless wares and advertisements blaring on the television, "what's for breakfast...don't use the instant in the blue can, tastes like crap," and it's another day. I rub my eyes and sigh, when will it be time to go back to bed I wonder and start the coffee; _red can_, so he's happy, so I can see the smile that makes the day a bit brighter, a bit quicker, like my pulse.

"Kubo-chan?" I drape myself across the back of the couch, arms dangling against his chest, coffee mugs in hand and raise my eyebrow slightly at his exasperated expression. "Whatever..." he gulps down the coffee and I smile. Leaning in I lick the side of his mouth and he freaks. "Gah! What the? What the hell'd you do that for?"

He's standing in front of me now, slightly hunched over and breathing hard, light blush tingeing his ears as I slowly drag my thumb across my mouth, licking away the last of the coffee. "Missed a spot," I say nonchalantly. This is not the night, during the day I'm not allowed to do these things, but he still flops back down beside me and mumbles, "Just don't do it again," knowing that I will and not condemning me for it.

"Hai, Hai," I readily agree and rest my chin on his neck, lightly breathing across that spot behind his ear. I found that a week ago and have been playing with it since. He shivers, eyes partly hooded and leans into it, hitched breath slowly expelled as I gently remove the coffee cup from his hand. Those deep blue eyes start to pull themselves open and my tongue flashes out, dragging the tip across it, slowly forming circles and his eyes close again.

He leans in closer and I tilt my head, teeth lightly grazing and his breathing becomes ragged, hurried and I can see his fists clench, scrapping the material of his jeans raw even through the leather glove.

"Ku..bo..-chan..." my name on his lips, a silent request to stop or not, I'm never really sure, but I also don't care. It's his fault, he allowed me to leave this morning earlier than normal, so this is just fair play. I bite a bit harder, teeth sinking into tense flesh and I can almost taste the blood coursing below the surface of his skin. That throbbing pulse surrounds me; everything seems to thrum to the same beat and I want it to never end.

As I suck the redden flesh into my mouth his tongue dances across his lips. Snaking my fingers into his hair I pull his head back roughly, his eyes open and I see the plea in their depths. _More_. I capture his mouth with mine, teeth crashing together as I try to consume his very essence through the kiss.

Sometimes it's like this, we get lost in each other to the point where only a shared pain is real and we burn together. The fire is harsh and leaves scars and sometimes nightmares, but it also marks us, a tattoo of sorts, branding ownership unto our flesh, our very souls. He is mine and I am his. We are a burning fire let loose upon the world: beautiful in its ferocity, all consuming and encompassing.

Yet fires burn themselves out if left alone. They consume everything in their path and then dwindle to nothingness, only ash and scorch marks upon the earth left to show that they were there. Our existences match I think, he's fuel to the smoldering fire in my gut; a moth to what distorted light I show the world.

And still he says I'm beautiful. White hot flames, cold and cruel in their purity, he molds himself into my darkness and there is light, sparks of flame and metal flying through the night, forging something greater than the two of us alone. A sword or shield maybe shackles. Shackles would be good, chain me to him, never to be free, until I fade into the darkness that constantly surrounds us.

"Shh...Kubo-chan...shh..." Sometimes it's like this too, in the aftermath I can't help but shake in his arms. Like some momentous earthquake my body trembles and I can't stop it. In the darkness all I feel is him, all I see is him, and I want nothing more than to freeze time and never leave his arms. If we're to burn ourselves out, I want it to be during one of these moments.

"Burn me, burn yourself into my flesh and brand me with your tattoo..." barely a whisper in the dark but he hears nonetheless.

"You first..." his kiss is feather light across my lips but it is hot and I can feel the invisible brand he places there. _This is mine_. I nod and close my eyes.

_Yes, it always was._

Fin.


End file.
